Easter Basket

(please, please do not tell my wife about this post)

It’s summertime and the kids often play in the basement where it’s cool. A favorite game of theirs is to dig out some Easter baskets with the fake straw, drop in their beany babies and act out stories.

So my princess bride, Wendy is down there cleaning up after the kids. I have accompanied her to watch. She reaches into an Easter basket to grab a small stuffed animal. As her hands close on the beany baby, she freezes, peers closely and begins screaming.

She screams her way up the stairs, one hand holding the basket, the other held out and away from her.

I’m moderately intrigued by this display and follow her up. I’ve never heard Wendy scream before. She’s won state tennis championships in high school and one of the reasons we get along so well is that her tough, athlete’s mentality is perfect to deal with me and my need or desire to play basketball every day of the week.

At the kitchen sink she is furiously washing her hands while doing those fast birth breathing exercises which come in handy except when you forget to do them during the actual birth.

There was no beany baby in the basket.

It was a dead mouse. Been dead a while actually.

It was covered in maggots.

Would you have screamed, too?

What part of your sales life is dying?

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